


Without fear

by YuiMufiin



Series: Kinktober 2020 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire (Teen Wolf), Art Student! Stiles, Derek is a painter, Fsxmoon plot, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Shibari, Stiles is Your Muse, Stiles' mother’s name is Nora, Teacher Isaac Lahey, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26834542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YuiMufiin/pseuds/YuiMufiin
Summary: Day 3 - Shibari | Wax Play: Derek is a painter who at the age of 19 was considered a prodigy and stopped painting after a certain period. Stiles admires him and never thought to approach, until a chance as his assistant appears. Stiles eventually discovers that the work is more complex than he imagined.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Kinktober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951408
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40





	Without fear

**Author's Note:**

> I will end up being so late with this Kinktober that I will finish it in November. Kinkember

> Art is nothing more than a mirror of its interior

That’s her mother’s answer to Stiles every time he asked her what she meant by art, but he never understood. He didn’t understand why art was so important, but he wanted to understand. So she always ran to her mother’s skirts when she came home from school and sat by her side, watching fascinated by every watered-down stroke she gave on the canvas.

She painted two birds: one with its wings outstretched upward in black, red, and vibrant blue tones, the sun reflecting in its colors; and the other flying lower, looking difficult, its feathers did not glow like those of the other and were of an opaque shade of gray, loose feathers as the wings flap. Stiles imagined that now he understood, nothing made so much sense before, if art was the mirror inside us, it meant there were two birds inside his mother!

She laughed and messed up his hair when he cheered his deduction and said that was not what he was trying to say, but that he was on the right track. He pouted, disappointed and questioned who the birds were then. Her mother looked at the recently finished painting as if she was looking for an answer as well and took a long time to stutter a bass: it’s me.

His answer did not clear up a third of his doubts and had the opposite effect, so the boy drew his own conclusion: art was a mess. And this time, she didn’t deny it.

That Christmas, Stiles asked for a set of sketchbooks and crayon and when he announced that he would become an artist just like her, his mother cried.

Since then, they drew together. Her mother made flowers and landscapes at sunset, she portrayed her favorite places and illustrated croissants on coffee tables. Stiles drew superheroes and his family, showing through it how much he wanted a dog.

Nora praised each of his drawings, even though they were a childish mess and commented that he was getting closer to understanding what art was, ensuring that he would be a wonderful artist by then. Stiles was thrilled and ran around the house laughing and talking loudly that would show her that he would be the greatest and best artist of all. 

When Stiles realized, his mother was crying again.

The next time he was 13, they were in the hospital, Stiles lying in bed nestled against Nora while she read one of the art magazines their father had brought with them. She caressed her hair while reading the news aloud, sounding surprised to talk about the young artist that everyone seemed to be commenting on: a boy under 20 and considered an artistic prodigy.

Stiles raised his head from where he was leaning on her shoulder and watched as she passed the pages, showing photos of the gallery’s works.

His eyes shone and his heart sped up with the illustration that covered the whole page. He did not understand why, but he felt a mixed emotion as soon as he saw it, even though the image was so simple: a woman with a single fabric connecting both arms, portraying her naked back and face facing down. 

After all, it wasn’t the sight of the naked woman that hit him, but something about how she was painted. The oil paint, which Stiles now knew how to recognize, was applied in rough strokes, while being delicate. The unique aggressiveness of someone who seemed to be in a storm of feelings.

"Do you like it?" your mother asked, smiling and looking proud. Stiles shook his head fast and more often than necessary, agreeing without taking his eyes off the magazine "Derek Hale, right? He seems like a good guy"

That was the first time Stiles felt so close to his mother, after so many years, he found some meaning in the phrase that haunted him, even though it was impossible to put into words.

His mother died a few weeks after that.

If Stiles asked anyone, everyone would tell him the same thing: he had no talent for drawing. This comment was always followed by the same question "why are you doing visual arts?".

He himself did not understand what the problem was, even after so much time of practice, his drawings seemed made by a beginner, his colors made no sense and were confused in their own confusion. Stiles knew it was a real mess, but no matter how hard he tried to improve his artistic skills and endeavor to understand concepts and technical studies, whenever he picked up a brush, nothing seemed to change. It was all the same about him not being made for it.

Stiles didn’t give a shit. He didn’t study visual arts hoping to be the best at it or dream about opening his own gallery one day like most, he did it because he loved art more than anything else.

Even if he wasn’t good at some activities, he’d make up for his theoretical test scores. So as long as he didn’t end up failing, who cares?

I was in class with your favorite teacher when they quoted Derek Hale.

It had been seven years since he was considered the Artistic Prodigy and almost two that he didn’t drip any painting, this was not so unusual in the art world, but it was unusual for Derek.  
Stiles accompanied and knew all of his art, from the ones posted under the name Derek Hale to the ones he used pseudonyms, no matter what, Stiles would recognize his traits anywhere.

Hale was one of the main reasons, besides his mother, that made him decide to go to college. They might say that Stiles was obsessed, but he swore that it was a kind of healthy obsession; he admired his work while hating each of his arts.

Since the death of his mother, Stiles sought that feeling in every announced painting of Derek; and spent hours admiring the works whenever his anger seemed to dominate, miraculously being replaced by comfort. Until they didn’t do it anymore.

There was some moment when the burning passion that calmed your nerves was replaced by another burst of feelings, and then nothing. Hale continued to paint a dozen paintings a year, but the only thing he delivered were boring jobs that critics expected, he became annoying and annoyed Stiles that no one else noticed.

So yes, Stiles hated every second of what the artist had become and hates even more what it did to him. The failed attempted murder of his ex-girlfriend went on every news bulletin, but according to critics, it was impressive that Derek went through a situation like this without letting it affect his work. How could anyone not be affected by something like that? It was so obvious that Stiles wanted to bash their heads in until they saw what he saw.

"Would any of you know what Derek Hale meant by this work?" Teacher Isaac passed the slide.

Stiles recognized him immediately, it was one of the unnamed paintings Derek used to do: a shrunken ballerina, embracing her own body as tight flower branches curled around her legs.

Some people raised their hands, their answers were in professional frustration, that the fetal position indicated their insecurity and the branches that prevented us from moving.

The corner of the young teacher’s mouth twitched as he considered each of the answers, muttering amusing and walking back and forth. 

Stiles frowned at the answers, surprised at the vision they had, because for himself it was something completely different.

"Stilinski? Would you like to share your opinion with the class?" One of the things that Siles admired about the teacher was his observation and how he didn’t let anything get away. 

He had shown up at the last minute to replace a teacher and hasn’t left since. Being so young, he became a friend to the classes easily, but still earned their respect. It was hard to balance all that, but somehow, he managed.

Stiles cleaned his throat and unnecessarily analyzed the slide, as he knew every touch-up.

"It seems to me to be the fear of seeing someone leave," some students looked at him.

"Can you explain?" Teacher Lahey looked at him in the same fun way he did with the other answers, but stopped walking.

"Derek Hale did not represent himself as the dancer, but as the branches. It’s like he’s desperately trying to hold onto something important to lose. It’s not a picture about insecurity, it’s about hope"

Some people bowed their heads to write down what he had said.

The teacher smiled at him.

"Great performance, I hope to see you after class," he said before continuing with the explanation.

As soon as the bell rang, Stiles packed up his gear and went to meet his teacher.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Lahey?"

"I’ve already said that they don’t have to be so formal, we’re almost the same age, I’m not used to it yet, so call me Isaac," he laughed slowly.

"Sure... and what can I do for you?"

"Yes, yes. I don’t want to waste your time, so I’ll be straight with you, Derek Hale is a close friend of mine and I don’t know if you know, but it’s been over a year since Derek produced anything." Isaac took the phone out of his pocket and typed it at the same time he explained it.

"Yes, I... I followed the news," wiped his throat so it didn’t sound like he’d been around long enough to be weird.

"Well, he’s a difficult person to deal with, but somehow I managed to convince him to get an assistant for himself," he laughed on his cell phone "However, he demanded that he did not want to work with some 'idiot' and would only accept someone capable of interpreting a 'simple' picture like that. I’m sure he thought no one could do that and he could get away with it, so suck on that Derek. Oops, ignore that last part."

Stiles didn’t care about the swear word Isaac released because he was still processing what he had just said. It seemed like he was suggesting that he was Derek Hale’s assistant, but that didn’t make any sense.

"What?"

"Don’t worry, it will be accounted for as an internship, and added to your hours bank, and of course, it is remunerated. Erica won’t even believe this" he laughed.

"Wait, you want me to be Derek Hale’s personal assistant?"

"That’s right, you don’t want to?" stopped typing for a second and analyzed it.

"No, I want to! Of course I want to" hastened to say.

Isaac smiled.

"Therefore, I will send you the details by email. He will want to have an interview in person, so keep in mind that he may be an idiot"

"Hmm, right, okay"

"See you next week, Stiles," he hasn’t stopped smiling.

Stiles didn’t understand a word of what had happened, but by the looks of it, now he had an interview scheduled with Derek fucking Hale. He wasn’t prepared enough in his whole life to deal with it.

The email you received said only the address, date, time and for him to wear casual clothes. The rest was about how much of Derek was an idiot, and if he crossed the line, you just call him.

Thus, Stiles drove for half an hour to the address and was surprised to see that the house was in a more remote part of the city, if Derek was the type of person who avoided chaos and movement, Stiles would not judge him, he also felt like getting away from all the mess.

Stiles was a few minutes early, so he took some time to take a deep breath. He read Isaac’s email a few times, checking for the umpteenth time if he hadn’t missed anything. He took one more drug against his ADHD, trying not to think it was really happening. He would meet Derek Hale.

She thought of her mother for a moment before put it off, she would be very proud of him.

Stiles spent some time distracted until he realized that someone had leaned on the balcony, looking at him.

Shit.

Stiles rushed out the door. The email said nothing about taking his portfolio, but he still brought it with him in case Derek wanted to see him and reconsider his hiring. He left it on the hitchhiker’s bench and locked the doors, taking one last look at his hair out the window.

Stiles crossed the green grass, nervous about being watched, and stopped in front of Derek.

"Hi? Um, I’m Stiles, I’m here for an interview. You must be Derek Hale, right?"

He had his doubts, Derek did not appear very publicly and most of the photos published about him are from seven years ago. So no one could judge Stiles for not knowing that he looked like this.

He swallowed in the dry, unable to stop noticing the tight T-shirt he wore and how he seemed to be the most handsome man Stiles had ever seen, with his beard unshaven and green eyes reflecting in the sunlight. 

"I know who you are", Stiles straightened out his unconscious posture with his firm voice.

Derek didn’t say anything else.

"Okay, of course you do" muttered to himself, "So, about the interview...? I didn’t know if I should, but I brought my portfolio with me in case you wanted to see it, but don’t get your hopes up, I’m not good at it. You’re probably wondering why I study arts if I’m bad and what I’m doing here, but there’s a whole story about it and I don’t think you’re interested in knowing about my life, so-"

"Stiles, stop talking"

Stiles stopped.

Derek looked at him one more time and entered the house, leaving the door open.

"Shut up, Stiles idiot," he spoke to himself, praying that the medicine would take effect and followed behind him, stopping only to close the door.

Derek made his way through the house without looking back to see if Stiles was keeping up, the noise of his footsteps across the floor being an indication.

Stiles on the other hand was looking at every corner, surprised by the simplicity of the house. It was almost as if it had come out of a real estate catalogue, all properly in place and cleaned. Derek didn’t seem like the sort of person who would clean the house, so he figured maybe he had someone who would do the work for him.

Derek climbed the stairs, passing through some three doors and Stiles tripped over his own feet, without falling, when he stopped suddenly at the last of the corridor.

Stiles noted curious, but Derek was still standing, frowning at the door. He then wiped his throat audibly.

"So...? That’s where we’ll do the interview?"

Hale looked at him the same way as before, like he was considering all his life choices and pulled a bunch of keys out of his pocket.

He unlocked and opened the door and wow.

Yeah, that was it.

The room was full of paintings, Stiles did not recognize any of them, but recognized the woman depicted in each.

He was out of breath.

His feet moved without his consent and he analyzed each new trait, his mind working to learn its new forms. 

He touched an art, the woman outdoors with her breasts outside, surrounded by flowers and bush, a branch of a low tree was the only thing that covered her intimacy.

He traced his fingertips over the canvas, not brave enough to touch the bumps of raw paint.

It didn’t take long to paint, walking to the next. This time, scattered on a messy bed, her nakedness barely being covered by a transparent Babydoll.

Stiles walked and walked, analyzing work by work and feeling every emotion curve at his fingertips. It was like he was 13 years old again, lying in a hospital bed, except these paintings were completely different from anything Derek had ever shown the public, they were pure pornography. The kind of thing that would open the anonymous tab of Google to search, afraid someone would find out.

There were bruised thighs; a snake wrapped around its neck; blindfolds; cuffs and legs open.

"It is"

What hit Stiles hard was that in all the works, the woman’s face was smeared with black paint, obviously applied long after finalized. It made him feel a sudden urge to cry.

He did not realize that he had fallen into the immensity of art until a few minutes later. He looked at Derek with cloudy eyes, trying to recover and act as if he hadn’t spent so much time admiring each piece.

It was weird, he knew, Derek would find it odd to see someone spend as much time on every detail as he did. Except he didn’t think so.

Hale was leaning against the door frame, not having moved an inch since they entered, his arms crossed across his chest and a harsh expression watching Stiles as if he hadn’t taken his eyes off him from the start. What has actually happened.

His eyes seemed to glow when he received Stiles' attention and he left the room. This time, it doesn’t sound like an invitation to follow him, so the kid stayed where he was, feeling embarrassed.

He did not have much time to worry about Derek’s sudden departure, as he returned in a few minutes with a black sketchbook in hand, offering for Stiles to pick up.

Stiles walked up to him and took the notebook.

"You can choose anyone," he said earlier when the boy opened the front page.

They were simple drafts, confusing references to poses. From someone sitting on a chair to being tied to a bed. He stopped flipping when he reached a specific page: a person lying on a divan with ropes holding his arms behind his back, lifting one of his legs and hip. Something dripping from his body.

"This one," he turned the page so Derek could see "What’s this for?"

Derek breathed heavy with the drawing.

"Pose"

"Pose?" Stiles repeated, hoping Hale would explain, which he did not. Instead, he continued to do the only thing he seemed to know how to do: stared at him, this time raising an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious "What? You mean me?!" 

"You came here to be my muse, didn’t you?"

Stiles’s chin fell off.

"What? No, not really! Teacher Isaac said it was for an assistant job"

Derek snorted.

"I should know... so you don’t want to?"

"I..." Stiles stopped to think

He imagined himself in those canvases, in each of the positions, and realized that it was not against the idea. On the contrary, he swallowed it dry, scared, when he noticed how much he longed for it.

He wanted every stroke, every aggression and softness Derek could give him. He wanted everything and nothing at the same time. I wanted to go from your details and superficiality to anything Derek Hale could offer you. He desired his art more than he ever desired anything in his life, and becoming a part of it gave him immeasurable satisfaction.

"I want, please let me do it'

Derek seemed satisfied for the first time on the day.

This time, when he left, Stiles went after him.

The next room they entered looked like the room their mother painted at home in some aspects: splashes of paint on the floor, an empty easel and some screens of different sizes in the corner.

But your mother didn’t have a divan in the middle of the room.

"Wait, you want to do this now?"

"Do you not?"

"It’s not that I don’t want to, just..." Didn’t know how to say it. He wasn’t ready for this, everything still seemed too sudden. But he also thought he would never be.

"You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, we can stop anytime you want, so you don’t have to be afraid," Derek assured.

Stiles nodded, still insecure, but a little more determined.

Derek placed a medium-sized canvas on the easel and separated a new paint case and a palette of dry paint to mix.

He stood still as he watched Derek skillfully separate his materials. When he had everything ready, Derek walked to a closet, squatting to get what he needed.

"Take off your clothes, Stiles," he asked. 

Stiles did.

It wasn’t the first time he took his clothes off in front of someone else, but it was the first time he did it for another purpose. And none of those people were Derek Hale, so yes, he was nervous.

He took advantage of the fact that Hale was not paying attention and took off all his pieces, leaving them in a pile on the floor, but continued in his underwear.

Derek pulled red ropes and candles out of the closet before turning to him. Stiles didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he crossed his fingers behind his back, playing with his fingernails. His heart was beating so hard when Derek looked at him that he thought he was gonna have a seizure at any moment.

Hale looked at him like it was the first time, from top to bottom.

"The underwear too, huh?" Stiles stuttered, failing to act like he had done it all the time and trying to draw the fire out of his stomach when Derek nodded. He would definitely die if Derek realized he was getting sexually aroused.

He squatted down to slide his underwear, as requested. This time, Hale did not look away.

Finally naked and with Derek facing him so hard, he left the job of keeping a hard-on from happening even harder.

His mind now more relaxed with the medicine had to act quickly to find something to distract him. Then he saw the candles that Derek separated.

"Candles?"

Derek looked away from where Stiles pointed.

"Don’t worry, they won’t burn you," great, so they’ll drop candles on it, that’s all. At least this could prevent it from getting hard "I’ll tie the ropes on you now, this may take a while"

"Right," Stiles walked in front of you.

"Let me know if the knot is too tight"

"I will"

Derek began by his arms, giving instructions to his muse to cross them on his back. Stiles was curious about what he was doing, only feeling the grip and warning if it was too loose. It was so until the first part was complete, the arms immobile and the rope dragging along his chest above and below, forming a band on his nipples, but without touching them. Between the band there was a knot that divided in his shoulder, next to the neck and returned to meet in his arms. 

Derek was skilled with his hands and the tie was not as complicated as this back part would not appear in the painting, so it was not as long as he imagined.

The rope was softer than expected and did not hurt his skin, just applying pressure. It would certainly start to hurt later because of the lack of movement in the limbs.

"I confess that I never imagined that I would participate in a bondage", he admitted.

"This is not bondage, it’s shibari" Derek corrected him "they may look the same, but the difference is aesthetics. Bondage is made solely for immobilization and I don’t want you just immobilized"

"So, shibari", repeated to test the name.

"Spread your legs, I’ll run the ropes on your hip and legs before you lie down," Stiles did, while Derek caught another rope.

He focused first on his thighs, Stiles looking up at the ceiling, battling Derek’s vision kneeling so close to his penis.

"This can be a little uncomfortable" warned, before loosening a knot that caught in the span of your ass, just above your hole.

Stiles held his breath and panted at the unexpected and delicious pressure. His cock contracted and he needed to make a Herculean effort not to be carried away, thanks to heaven, he remained soft.

"This one too", the next knot stuck at the base of his dick, just above the balls.

"Fuck", Stiles can’t help but moan this time and not stop the chills. All his efforts being in vain when he got semi-hard. His face boiled with shame, this time there was no way Derek wouldn’t notice it. "I’m sorry, I just..."

"It’s on purpose." Hale’s voice sounded funny, as if he was all the time aware of all his suffering.

"What?"

"Shibari hits the erogenous regions, so don’t worry about getting a hard-on. If you hadn’t however, I’d be doing something wrong"

"Shibari" he repeated once more. "Course is".

Stiles hissed when he finally lay on the divan straight. The knots pulled back and they were uncomfortable, at the same time that left you wanting to rub for them. He leaned his head on the pillow at the tip elevation and Derek handled it so that his arms would also be as comfortable as possible.

The rope in his waist and knees remained a few meters to be raised. Derek had to climb onto a chair to pull the rest of the rope and tie it to the solid hook on the ceiling.

He pulled the rope from his leg inches long enough for it to be raised up and not toward his head. Stiles pushed his face down on the pillow needing to bite his lip to avoid groaning when the position opened it and rubbed the knot in your ass. The rope on his waist was pulled only so that he could no longer support his side in his arms, generally not requiring much of his body. 

With everything ready, Derek stepped aside critically to visualize his work.

He frowned, dropping a noise from the bottom of his throat.

"So beautiful"

Stiles crowned the unexpected compliment and dropped a low grumble when he noticed the hardness in Derek’s pants.

Then it’s time for the candles.

"I’ll pour a drop on your skin, tell me if it’s too much" 

"Right" nodded, ready to soften up and regain some dignity, even though Derek said it was normal.

When the gout reached the inside of his thigh, Stiles hissed at the temperature only to realize that it had already passed, the wax hardening in his skin. The burn was intense and fast, but far from bad.

"Good?"

"Hmm" agreed just to get a bigger drip.

Everything was very hot and his breath became heavier with each pour. His plan went down the drain when he realized it was having the effect contrary to what he expected. Getting harder and harder.

Hale poured warm candles on his belly and seemed to appreciate the noises Stiles made. He climbed up and poured a good deal of it on one of his nipples, dripping down the side and stopping before reaching the other.

"Shit" Stiles groaned, reaching full hardness, seeing each of his nipples covered by red candle. The knot pressed firmly and collaborating for this.

Derek stopped after this, having hit all the stitches he wanted. Just to shed experimentally on the length of his penis.

Stiles saw stars and contracted his hips backwards, pressing against the back node.

"Holy shit," that’s the only thing you’ve been able to mutter, the wax crust already hard on your dick.

This time, the painter really walked away, blowing out the candle and leaving it on top of the cupboard.

When Derek finally sat down to paint, splashed the colors of the tubes on his palette, Stiles realized he definitely had problems.

He understood what it was like to be a muse only when Derek started painting. That look was different from all that he had received today, it was excited and burned in every part of his body, more than the candles did. His dick started drooling when he realized this was really happening.

At that moment, being tied up and exposed to Derek’s eyes he realized he had been made for it, he was born to be a muse and Derek gave him all the answers he needed:

Art was not only a mirror of its interior, **he** was art.

**Author's Note:**

> It was the most complex challenge I have written so far and it was HORRIBLE! Seriously people, I wanted to develop the parts so much that I ended up staying 2 days to write instead of 1. Worst of all it was that it was so long and not the way I expected, I had to give myself a slap to create the courage to post as it was. 
> 
> I hope to be able to continue with it someday, what do you say? Would you like to see more of our muse Stiles here? Maybe the Derek's POV?


End file.
